


No one Mourns the Wicked

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A leftover from Halloween.  Just be careful when you decide to accost the Grim Reaper.  You might get more than you bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one Mourns the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jkkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/gifts).



 

Napoleon felt the cold wind against his face and was happy that he’d thought to wear thermal long johns beneath his costume. There was movement to his right and the Grim Reaper stepped into view. The hood tipped back and Napoleon grinned at his partner, his face wonderfully made up by Section Eight.

“Wow, those guys really pulled out all the stop.” Napoleon reached out to touch Illya’s face, but the Russian eluded his fingers.

“No touchee. It took three hours to get it to like this. Wait until you see April.” His face had been painted to resemble a skull. In the low light, it was frighteningly real. Illya looked around at the set that had been created by his fellow agents. They’d taken an old warehouse and converted it into a haunted house, complete with a graveyard. “When did the fog roll in?”

“The guys started up the fog machines about twenty minutes ago. Don’t breathe deeply or you’ll choke.” Napoleon pointed to a tilting cross monument. “And be careful, the gravestones are fragile. I barely brushed that one.”

“The things we do to help sponsor the Widows and Orphans League.”

“It’s good PR and it is a worthy case.   Besides, you have a great outfit. At least you have free movement and you don’t lisp when you talk.”

“You have a cape. Women love capes… and a reason for necking.” Illya smiled or Napoleon thought he did. It was hard to tell. “And you aren’t lisping.”

“There’s only one neck I want to be nibbling,” Napoleon murmured taking a step closer to his robe-draped partner.

“Later and only if you play your cards right. Otherwise, face the wrath of the Grim Reaper.”

“Sorry, vampire. Already reaped.”

Illya brought a hand to his ear and a second later Napoleon’s earpiece crackled alive.

“Okay, places, everyone. We open in ten minutes.”

Illya pulled his hood forward, then reached out to touch Napoleon’s arm. “Good hunting?”

Napoleon slipped in his fangs. “Thame to you.” Napoleon watched Illya disappear into the fog.

“You two act like honeymooners.”

Napoleon turned and stared at the ugliest witch he’d seen. His mind worked for a moment, then he gasped, “April?”

“In the synthetic flesh.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Section Eight really out-did themselves.” April twirled. “Why are you lisping?”

“Not useth to the fangs.”

April giggled. “I just wanted to warn you.   Margaret is out here tonight and she isn’t happy.”

“The Wicked Witch? When is Margaret ever happy? If that woman smiled, her face would crack.” Napoleon loved all women, except possibly Margaret Guy. He’d flattered and flirted, but to no avail. The accountant seemed to make it her mission to make his life hell. At least he wasn’t alone. Most people felt the same way and even Illya was a little wary of her. _It’s just not natural for a woman to be able to resist Illya’s eyes._

“Just because you can’t…” April interrupted his thoughts

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Napoleon was thankful that his own makeup blocked his blush.

“You got it bad, Solo.” April laughed, then turned it into a cackle. “I’m off!”

Napoleon watched April swoop away towards a group of kids. They screamed and took off running. Napoleon grinned and went off to find his own action.

                                                            ***

Margaret Guy was not a happy woman, but that was hardly a news flash. She hated her life, she hated her job and mostly she hated children. She wanted nothing to do with them or their adult counterparts. She liked numbers, cold and factual. They were constant and trustworthy and fixed. People would rip you to shreds just to enjoy watching you bleed.

Thankfully, Margaret didn’t have to deal with many people. Most of her fellow employees steered clear of her. She didn’t know her neighbors or they her. If she could get through a day without having to talk to anyone, she considered it was a very good day, indeed. She knew the nickname that people bestowed upon her. Were it true and she was a wicked witch, she’d have made them all pay and dearly for every slight, real or imagined.

And now this. That damned Russian had purposefully been avoiding her for the last week. She’d left him several messages, even gritting her teeth and talking to that charlatan of a partner he worked with. Nothing. The end of the fiscal year audit was being held up by her last report and she couldn’t turn it in without the numbers from the damned Russian. She hated him and the snake he rode into town on.

Carefully, Margaret picked her way through the graveyard. It was where the people at the gate had seen the damned Russian. He was dressed as the Grim Reaper, so he wouldn’t be hard to find. Then she saw him lurking by a Styrofoam crypt.

“You!” The figure turned towards her as she stalked up to him. “You sniveling little coward. I want those numbers and I want them now.”

The head shook no and gestured towards the children as they raced by.

“Forget them, they are leeches on society. They suck dry our resources. I need those numbers and I am not leaving until I get them.

Again, the head moved slowly side to side and he pointed with his scythe. He turned and she grabbed him.

“Why, you are nothing but skin and bones.” She snarled. “I could eat you for dinner and still have room for dessert. Give me those numbers or I will beat them out of you.”

When the hood tipped back, Margaret forgot about numbers for the first time in her pathetic life. It was also then that she realized the name carved into the door of the crypt. The figure pulled back the scythe and Margaret screamed.

                                                            ****

Napoleon slipped his fangs out and gratefully took the cup of coffee Illya held out to him. “Did you hear the news? Margaret’s out here.”

“Oh…” Illya tried to make himself as small as possible, which is tough when you are wearing a very large robe and carrying an equally large cardboard scythe.

“I bet she’s gunning for you.”

“Not anymore, she isn’t.” April came up to them, fanning herself with her pointed hat. “Whew, being a witch is hard work.”

“What do you mean, April?” Illya passed her a cup of apple cider.

“They just found her over by that crypt.” April shook her head. “Poor thing. She’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Very.”

“THRUSH?”

“The doc said it was a heart attack.”

“She had a heart? That’s news to me.” Illya finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the nearby garbage can.

“Weird thing, though. When the guys made that crypt, there was no name on it.”

“It was Mr. Waverly’s orders. None of the gravestones or markers were to have anything on them. In our line of work, it’s just too much foreshadowing.”

“Then why does the crypt now read _Margaret_ _Guy_? They say it looked like it have been carved with a knife.” She looked over at Illya. “Or the tip of a something sharp.”

“Not me.” Illya bent the tip of his scythe to demonstrate. “I’m toothless, despite the makeup.”

“Someone said she was talking to the Grim Reaper.”

“Again, not me. I’ve been inside all night, lurking in a closet.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad you came out of it.” Napoleon grinned at his own joke. “Poor Margaret, though.”

Illya shrugged his shoulders. “A bitter woman who died alone. I think it was just the way she’d want it. After all, no one mourns the wicked*.”

 

 

*Yes, I know, I couldn’t help it.  This is a quote from _Wicked_

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 


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